by Lee Hart 7/97

This is the story of Edison Stout
Who wouldn't check his batteries out
His owner's manual left no doubt
And his EV dealer would beg and shout
But Edison would not check them out

And when his GFI would trip
He just decided to bypass it
His EV tickled him quite a bit
His door grabbed him when he grabbed it

Corrosion grew like some disease
Across the tops of the batteries
A putrid rainbow, if you please
Like yellow pus, green cottage cheese
As wires turned to bluish grease
The floor dissolved by slow degrees

Batteries shot (just bought last Autumn)
His ample range was now forgotten
Charging smelled like something rotten
The floor like mushy saurbraten

He'd still be driving it, no doubt
If molten lead had not flowed out
And acid geysers squirt about
Until, at last, said Edison Stout
"All right, I'll check the batteries out"

But alas, it was too late
Corrosion covers the car, to date
From roof down to the license plate
And Edison suffered a terrible fate
That's just too horrible to relate

So, EV owners, do not pout
When asked to check your batteries out!

Lee Hart

with apologies to Shel Silverstein
for his poem about
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Who wouldn't take the garbage out